Ascalla's Daughter

by M. C. Elam

  ***

  On the last morning, they packed and, after promises to visit in the spring, said good-bye, and turned the horses toward the Ruby River. The constant jangle of cowbells brought Evan a feeling of purpose she had never known, and she turned eager eyes ahead. Three more villages and miles of rich farmland lay between them and Baline. When they could, Marcus and Evan followed the waving shoreline of the Ruby, but the villages lay along the course, and because of Chinera, Evan kept a safe distance. One night she woke to Marcus’s deep rolling snore. At first she didn’t understand what startled her from sleep. Accustomed now to the rumbling song he made in sleep, Evan knew something else brought her awake. She sat up and looked around. Nothing seemed amiss until a dark shape, caught in the flickering glow from the fire, bounded past. Chinera raised on her haunches. Evan heard a whiffing kind of sneeze and turned in the direction of the sound. Chinera was already moving. Her form mingled with a larger one, and both disappeared into the darkness. The rogue had come calling.

  Worry about the wolf made falling back to sleep impossible, and Evan turned on her back staring into the night sky. Chinera’s lover had come in the night and she followed. What if Hawk appeared and called to her? Would she follow as Chinera followed the rogue? She began to count the stars and drive him out. That life was dead. Toward dawn, the wolves returned. The rogue kept his distance. Evan sat up to let him know she was awake but avoided eye contact. Chinera licked her face and settled next to her. The rogue watched just outside the ring of light cast by the fire. Evan extended her hand, and Chinera made a whiffing sneeze. The rogue stood still. Chinera made the sound again. He didn’t appear frightened, only cautious. He padded closer, and sniffed her fingers and circled the campfire for a closer look at Marcus. He made a wide circle around the tethered cows. Evan settled once more on the ground as if making ready for sleep. Satisfied, the rogue turned toward the trees and disappeared.

  “Marcus?”

  “Aye, Lady Evan, I be awake the whole time.”

  “He touched my hand.”

  “Aye, and mine. Took our scent.”

  Before they reached Baline, the rogue was simply, Rogue. The name stuck. Chinera grew too big for long days of walking. Marcus fashioned a litter cut from sturdy green saplings. He attached it to Tommy’s saddle with long, strips of hide and secured fur robes across the framework. At first Chinera shied away. She didn’t like the sound the saplings made when dragged along the ground, and she didn’t like being behind Tommy. When Evan climbed onto the litter and rode for a few miles, she climbed up beside her. After that, she walked until she felt tired and sought the litter when she wanted to rest. Rogue appeared every night. Sometimes Chinera joined him, and they disappeared into the darkness. Other times, he came to lie beside her near the fire.

  When they camped a few miles from the last village on the Ruby, Marcus told Evan he wanted to buy enough stores to see them through the winter.

  “We need a cart, milady, and there be a fine cart maker name of Ivory Manfred what lives in Caldara.”

  “A cart? What for, Marcus?”

  “Why, to haul our stores, milady.”

  Evan looked puzzled.

  “Lady Evan, we got to have stores for winter.”

  “You must think me the stupidest of women. I expected to find food in Baline, but of course, you are right. We won’t find anything there, will we?”

  “Some I expect. When I come through after border checks, I see volunteers growing in the fields?

  She gave him another blank look.

  “Volunteers be crops what comes up on their own. Been years of that, milady. Some gets choked out for sure, but others grows tall and sturdy, enough to make a fair yield for the likes of us two, but we still need stores, wheat flour and such. A few hens and a rooster be good, too, if we can keep them from Rogue”

  “You want to buy chickens, too?”

  “Aye, milady, for the eggs. Mayhap a couple sides of pork. If it be right with you, I can see about the cart and bring back what we need.”

  Marcus saw to the purchases, and a week later, they paused on a low bluff overlooking Baline. Chinera had slowed their travel when her pups came, three born strong and the fourth, a puny white female with a dark star on her forehead, was too weak to fight the others for a teat. Despite such rowdy littermates, Evan made sure the pup nursed frequently. Except for nursing, Evan carried her inside her shirt where she knew the little animal would stay warm. They made a wide circle around Elemad Basin that last morning, crossed a small stream to the east and came out above what was left of the village. The silent ghosts of burned out building looked up at them from the flat land below the bluff. Despite the charred ruin, they could make out the circular shape of the building plan, a large central area where small gardens once grew, broken-down sections of fence and stock shelters, an outer ring of cottages and nearest them, a small inn with most of the roof burned away. Evan looked beyond the village to dense forest. The little stream that fed out of the basin disappeared into the tree line and the sky beyond looked dark and angry.

  “The mountains, Marcus,” she nodded toward the distant peaks.

  “Aye, two days ride from here.”

  “Where you found me?”

  “Aye, where I found you.”

  She turned Tommy down the bluff toward the village, and Marcus fell in behind her.

  “Let me go alone. I want to see it by myself.”

  ***

  The sun hung low in the western sky when Evan reached the circle of burned out cottages. Imagining the little village before the raid was easy. Baline was no different from any other Ascallan village. She imagined the sound of villagers going about their daily chores, voices calling across the way, exchanging greetings. But charred timbers masked what was left of the cottages and no amount of imagining could make Baline live. Evan paused in front of each of the cottages and tried to picture the people who had lived in them. What was their last day like? Did it start as every other day, seeing to children, preparing meals, making ready for work? Of course it had, she could see remnants of their lives. Here was a rusted cooking pot. Next to that cottage stoop was a piece of broken crockery. Scattered pieces of linen cloth chewed by years of exposure, lay strewn about, like pieces of someone’s washing. Washing!

  The word struck her with the force of a bludgeoning mace. Washing, the women were washing that day. Tommy picked his way through the burned timbers and litter strewn grounds. Evan climbed down from his back and walked from cottage to cottage. She let the old ghosts touch her, enter in and bring her what remained of memory. She crossed the commons toward a cottage that seemed whole. The door hung askew, but the stoop seemed solid, and the roof, though hungry for repair had not burned. The root cellar door was the first thing she saw when she went inside. She crossed the floor and looked down into the darkness. Careful not to fall, she stepped into the dugout space below the floor. A sudden choking feeling, like someone holding her, squeezing to tightly, made her seek the light once more. She walked around the small room, touching a plate, a cup, an apron still hanging on a hook near a cupboard. The cottage was larger than her Falmora cottage. Two rooms, a day room, and a second room that Evan knew must be where the family slept.

  She entered the room and trailed her hand along the wooden doorframe. She noted the second shuttered window and thought how amazing to see two windows in so modest a dwelling. She noted the carvings on the headboard and bent forward for a closer look. Mice had made a home in the straw ticking, and a mixture of squeaks and tiny scuttling feet spoke of their escape. Evan leaned across the mattress and traced the carving with her finger. Whose loving hands worked the wood, she wondered. Intricately designed initials decorated the headboard, C and M entwined with morning glory vine. She wasn’t sure how long she stood inside the little bed chamber before she heard Marcus behind her.

  “I lived here, Marcus.”

  14 - Memories

  “Hold that runt every time she cries and you spoi
l her sure, milady,” Marcus set the last shutter on its hinges and pushed it closed. The resounding squeak brought a frown to his brow. He pulled the hinge pin, picked up a block of soap from the table behind him, and applied a generous amount over the surface. When he reseated the pin and rotated the shutter a second time, the squeak had stopped.

  “Squeak be gone for a bit till the soap wears. After that mayhap I be trying axel grease. Has a stink to it but might last longer.” He took a step back and eyed Evan. “She be Chinera’s pup, wee girl, not yours.”

  “I know she belongs to Chinera, and she’ll fend for herself soon enough. Didn’t I leave her to nurse alone and battle that horde of brothers?” The pup lay sleeping in her lap.

  “Aye, you did.”

  “You were right. They don’t push her out anymore, but I like to hold her.”

  “Rogue be taking them off one day, milady. They’re his pack now. Chinera too, unless I be way off wrong.” He put the soap and his other tools into the carryall box and hefted it over his shoulder by its leather strap.

  Evan sighed. “I can’t remember a time without Chinera. She won’t leave me.” She stroked the pup’s nose with her index finger until it made sleepy little growls.

  “Rogue be a mighty temptation. Family to her.”

  “She is my family.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Not like Rogue.” He put the box under a bench at the far end of the common room next to the curved bar. A wooden bucket sat at the end. He took a dipper of water and turned his back to drink.

  Evan deposited the pup back into the box. Her little belly was full, and she burrowed between two of her brothers, ready to sleep. Marcus sat in one of the chairs and, before he thought, put his feet up on the table.

  “I guess so,” she answered still eyeing the box full of pups.

  He moved his feet to the floor and shook his head.

  “Put them back.” Her expression was sober.

  “Milady?”

  “Your feet, put them back. Did you think I didn’t know? If anyone deserves to put his feet up, it’s you.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Eyes to the back of your head. That be you, milady.”

  “Well,” she said.

  One at a time, he plunked them back atop the table and crossed one over the other. “Does give a body rest.”

  She stirred a kettle of stew that hung over the fire, spooned out a bowlful, cut a chunk of bread from a fresh round she’d baked only that morning and handed it to Marcus. “Taste my latest effort with the bread, and see if I’m getting better.”

  He broke a chunk from the piece she handed him, dipped it into the stew, and ate. “Well done, milady.”

  She knew by the sound of his voice he left something out and stood with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “A might salty be all but nigh on perfect.” He broke off another chunk and dipped it in the stew again to prove he meant what he said. “Finish this off and I be setting to work on the roof.”

  “We’ve had naught but vegetable stew for four days, Marcus. I thought I’d go above the falls and see about some fish for supper, unless you want help with the roof.”

  “Roof’s no place for a lady, and fish be just the thing. But that be more than a mile off into the trees.”

  She smiled and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “And you don’t want me so far away.”

  He nodded.

  “What if Chinera comes along? Give her a rest from the pups. They drag her down further each day.”

  At least it would give Evan a free afternoon, he thought. He eyed her hands. The skin around her knuckles still looked red and sore. He didn’t like it that she worked so hard, but the room did look a lot different today from when they had arrived. Swept clean of debris and with a fire crackling on the hearth, the old tavern slowly came to life. Most of the roof still withheld the weather, and for some reason, the fire that the Owlmen set must have smoldered and died. He replaced the damaged part of the floor, and because it was the best of the buildings, they chose to take residence here. A stairway led to the second floor where four rooms had housed occasional travelers. Once he replaced a few rotten steps and secured the gallery railing, Evan had cleaned the rooms. Vermin occupied the mattress sacks. She pronounced them hopeless, and together they heaved them out of an upstairs window. He pulled them well away from the inn and set them afire. The linen closet was made of cedar, and nothing had eaten through the wood. Here they found new mattress sacks and sheeting to make up the beds. They looked clean enough to Marcus, but Evan insisted on washing everything. A combination of scalding water and lye soap had made her hands and arms raw.

  “Pups be near ready for weaning. Mayhap fishing’s a good idea for the both of you.” He finished the stew and washed it down with a tankard of water. “I’ll be on the roof then. You’ll take care?”

  “Aye,” She nodded. She took off her apron and folded it.

  “Ye promise not to stray. That woods be heavy of thicket. Easy to lose your way.”

  “I promise.”

  “Off with you then, milady. And if you was to find a pool of flatfish, I be partial to them fried up black pan.”

  ***

  Evangeline dropped her skirt on the bank next to her fur parka and pulled the chemise over her head. The black pearl, tethered by a gold chain, bounced against her skin and came to rest in the sloping valley between her breasts. Remnants of last night’s snow, feather light but promising winter, painted icy patches along the sandy bank. Evan looked at the spot above her where the stream cascaded over a rocky waterfall into the deep pool at its base. The plunging water sent tender fingers of mist into the air. The moisture particles sought each other, clung together and formed droplets. They settled in her hair and coated her body with a fine damp sheen that made her shiver in delight. The sweet torture turned her smooth skin goose bumpy and made her nipples rock hard. When she could stand the sensation no longer, she waded into the pool and plunged beneath the surface. The water rushed over her, and she came up tingling as though she had splashed into a hot bath. A heavy smell like rotten eggs hung in the air over the hot spring and bubbled up with the steam that came through cracks in the rocky bottom. On a still day, the stench would hover over the water and drive off even the forest animals, but today a light current of air carried most of it away. Evan took shallow breaths until she grew accustomed to it. She floated on the surface while endless bubbles made little rivulets that licked her skin.

  Twice before, she swam here. Finding the pool had delighted her, and she longed to dive from the ledge above but knew she must deny that particular pleasure because of the babe. The rolling swell of her belly made her cautious. Marcus would strongly disapprove of her even swimming alone. Thinking about his fatherly grumbles warmed her heart. Devising ways to get away and explore the forest proved difficult enough. If he suspected she swam alone in a hot spring that reeked with the smell of sulfur, his poor head might explode. What if she took a cramp? Who would pull her out? How he would chastise her, all the while addressing her as milady this and milady that.

  Enough, musing about that, she swam to shore and came out shivering even more now that her hair dripped water. She coiled the long braid, squeezed out what remained, and lifted the chemise over her head. The soft linen felt good as it settled around her body, and she bent to pick up her skirt.

  “Perhaps you should listen to someone as wise as Marcus, when he tells you something.”

  Evan jumped and spun around. Startled, she grabbed her skirt, pulled it up, secured the waist, managed to jam her shoes on the wrong feet, took a single step, stumbled, and nearly fell.

  “No need for that. Put your shoes on the right feet my girl. I’ll not harm you.”

  Her breath came in frightened gasps. If she could only get back to Baline, she’d never go wandering again.

  “Now you don’t mean that. You are not the kind to stay cooped up with the whole world to exp
lore.”

  She sat down and switched her shoes. They felt wet and gritty with beach sand. As soon as she got home, she’d lock the doors and…

  “A locked door keeps you in, true enough, Lady Evangeline, but danger picks a lock. Your resolve to hide is a reckless response.”

  Evan stood still.

  “Come no closer. I have a wolf with me. She will take you down on my command.”

  “Chinera? Nay, lass, not Chinera. She sleeps curled on your fur parka, free of pups for a bit.”

  She looked around. Chinera did sleep soundly, oblivious to the voice.

  “Who are you? How do you know what I am thinking?”

  “Ah, she’s back. I wondered when you’d notice I read your thoughts.”

  “I know of mind speak.”

  “Yes, I do speak to your mind, Evangeline.”

  She spun around trying to find the source of the odd messages she heard inside her head.

  “No point in looking here, my girl. I am a distance from you, back along the path you took through the forest.”

  “But who are you?”

  “I’m Melendarius, the wise man of Baline. Now gather your fish from the place you left them.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Speak not in words, Evangeline. Creates a most irritating echo. Cast your thoughts to me.”

  When no threat appeared eminent, Evan’s first apprehension disappeared. She remembered Marcus speaking about a wise man named Melendarius, long known to the people of Baline. He had disappeared. Gram, too, had included him in some of the stories she told. Was he the same Melendarius?

  “I am the same, dear girl.”

  She tensed again. The idea of someone strolling through her private thoughts was repugnant.

  “What do you want with me?”

  Silence…

  “Will you answer me? Please.”